Dangerous Secrets

by Sidney Bristol

  “What do you say we take a break, find a movie and veg out for a bit? It’s Saturday. We can’t do anything about doctors or sorting out the next step until Monday. Let’s just...chill. How’s that sound?”

  “Okay,” Carson whispered. She pulled away from him and wiped her face. “Sorry about—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He took her hand in his again. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. It wasn’t really a smile, but it was close enough. Maybe he’d coax a real one out of her by lunch.

  That should be his goal. To make her happy. Maybe even laugh.

  He tore his gaze away from her lips, but it was too late. The idea of what else he might do to that mouth was there.

  What had it been like to kiss her?

  If he had to guess she’d be a gasper, always sucking in little breaths of air, clinging tight.

  What he wouldn’t give to remember.

  KAWA COULD NOT AFFORD to wait. Things were once more moving at a sprint back home. If he did not secure some kind of foreign support their bid to separate from Syria would fall through and everyone, he loved would die.

  This had to happen now even if he no longer had the money to secure the woman’s release. If he couldn’t buy her, he’d steal her.

  He pulled out his phone and peered at the screen.

  Any moment now Senator Joe Neilson’s lunch with a collection of influential people in the tech world would be interrupted. The ruse was fabricated to get Joe away from people and in a private area where no one else would see them. Kawa had a limited budget to spend now that the broker had absconded with their capital for this project. He’d allocated a small bribe to ensure this meeting happened.

  He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to any gods listening.

  They needed a break. Something good had to come their way soon or else he would be working toward a mass evacuation plan to prevent regional genocide.

  A light tap on the door sent an electric jolt down his spine.

  It was time.

  Kawa clasped his hands in front of him.

  The door opened, and the maître d’ ushered an older man in with silvering hair and bright blue eyes.

  “What is this?” Senator Joe Neilson glanced at the office door as it shut behind him.

  “Hello, Senator Neilson,” Kawa said. He’d practiced these words. He was speaking on behalf of a country full of hope that they would get to see tomorrow.

  “Who are you?” Senator Neilson kept his distance.

  “I am a messenger bringing you good tidings.” Kawa picked up the small envelope from the desk and held it out to the senator.

  “What is it?” Senator Neilson didn’t make a move to touch the offered envelope. Because he didn’t want to sully his hands?

  “Nothing important.” Kawa reached in and slid the photograph out just enough so that part of a woman’s face could be seen.

  Senator Neilson already pale face went even paler, and he snatched the envelope away from Kawa. He held the image up to his nose as though he could breathe in the scent of her.

  “How did you get this? How long ago? Where?”

  “A scouting drone took this a few days ago. She has already been moved.”

  “Where?” Senator Neilson now gave Kawa his full attention. “Where is Jules?”

  Kawa shrugged.

  He had the senator’s attention. Now they bargained.

  “What do you want?” Senator Neilson asked, his voice flat and cold.

  “To be friends, Senator Neilson.”

  “What do you want?” he asked again, slower.

  “We both have family and friends who are suffering from the same people. If you were to help us, I could perhaps find your sister Jules again. Maybe even get her out of the country. But I’d only ever do something like that for a friend.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “You’re part of the investigation into Aerospace Inc. It would be very bad for us, and your sister, if your new friends were connected to them.”

  “You’re asking me to inhibit an investigation that I’m leading? Me?”

  “No one wins if your new friends are connected.” Kawa shrugged.

  If Akkadia was not recognized as a country apart from Syria soon, if they didn’t get some kind of assistance, Syria would hit them and kill everything living in that region. There would be casualties across borders and countless other lives lost.

  It would take money to rescue Senator Neilson’s sister. Money the budding government didn’t have because it was here. Tied up in American banks through a man Kawa couldn’t find.

  “I don’t know that I need new friends,” Senator Neilson said.

  “But your sister might.”

  Senator Neilson flinched then turned away. He yanked the door open and stalked into the hall, back toward the main room of the restaurant.

  The die had been cast. Now all Kawa could do was hope that Senator Neilson’s love for his missing sister was stronger than his ethics.

  Chapter 4

  Carson kept her eyes on the TV while Ryan’s fingers drew little circles on her knee. The gentle touch bordered on ticklish, not that he meant to do that. Or that’s what she told herself.

  When they’d first settled in to watch the comedy she hadn’t known what to do about this constant contact. If she shifted away from him, he shifted closer. If she put her knees out of his reach, he’d drape his arm across the back of the sofa and twirl her hair. What was he getting at? Was it a hint? Was he trying to put the moves on her?

  Now, after two movies, she was certain that these little gestures were completely mindless. He had no idea he was doing it. He wasn’t trying to slide his hand in her pants, up her shirt or grope her. He liked the closeness. Sort of like Mom’s old cat who used to insist on laying pressed up against someone even when it was sweltering. Both Ryan and the cat enjoyed contact. But unlike the cat, Ryan believed whatever they were doing meant something. Because he thought they’d shared something.

  She blew out a breath and shoved those thoughts aside.

  He had one thing right; they couldn’t do anything about their situation, perceived or real, until Monday at the earliest. She was dedicating herself to that belief for now and putting off the buffet of guilt she’d load up on later. Right now she wanted a few moments to lean on him. To feel the support she didn’t deserve.

  The credits to their second movie of the day began to roll. He leaned forward and killed the TV.

  “Did you like that one better?” He stretched his arms up over his head. His t-shirt molded to his body, showing off his well-honed muscles.

  “They were both funny.” It had taken her a whole movie to relax.

  “Yeah, but you laughed more at the second one.” He flopped back and once more placed his hand on her knee. The weight of it made her stomach tighten and her insides teeter tottered between wanting to run away or play the cat and get closer.

  Normally she would shy away from casual contact like this. She wasn’t equipped to deal with men of Ryan’s caliber. She didn’t know what to do or how to act, but being around Ryan was easy. She steeled her nerve and covered his hand with hers. His smile grew a tiny bit wider and damn if she didn’t like this. Right about now she’d love to have someone, a partner, bearing this burden with her. It was a nice fantasy to believe she could have someone there who could be strong when she stumbled.

  “I guess I’m still wound pretty tight,” she said.

  “Anything I can do to change that?” He turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together. His brown eyes were warm. Inviting.

  “You’re doing it.” She fought the silly swarm of butterflies to get those three words out of her mouth. She had no business getting involved with him on any level, even in her imagination. Still, he was perhaps the kind of guy she needed to find. Someone who could be gentle and patient with her.

  “Glad to know I’m good for something.
” He lifted her hand, and she stopped breathing.

  Carson swallowed, watching the way his lips puckered versus the soft sensation of the kiss. It was brief, maybe a moment, and yet it seemed as though more time had passed.

  Besides flirting in the bar it was the most action she’d had in a while.

  He believed they’d done a whole lot more. What was the harm in a little affection?

  Ryan tugged on her hand and leaned toward her.

  Oh shit.

  She could see it coming, and yet her feet wouldn’t move. Her limbs were frozen in place. Her mind said to flee while the rest of her wanted to stay right where it was.

  Ryan slid his fingers through her hair until he cupped the back of her head. There was nothing uncertain in the way he looked at her. He was a man who knew his desires and talents. She was no match for him.

  He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. She sucked in a breath, her head buzzing. His mouth sealed over hers in a true kiss. Lust curled up through her in answer to him. She’d been so focused on work and now her sister that everything else had fallen to the wayside. She almost forgot what it felt like to be kissed. Held. That it could feel good.

  Ryan leaned back just enough to break the kiss. His thumb stroked her neck, and she felt his breath on her neck, all while her head reeled.

  “I wish I remembered doing more of that,” he said.

  She wished she’d told her friend to fuck off, that she’d kept Ryan to herself. Then this might not be their first kiss.

  “I—I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” She hated saying that, but if she didn’t put a stop to this kind of thing she might end up really pregnant. After all, how did she tell him condoms were necessary when the damage was supposedly already done?

  “It isn’t?” He leaned back a tiny bit. His face creased, and she felt a pang of guilt.

  “I just—I don’t know.” She wrapped both of her hands around his and steeled herself for the half truths she had to weave. “I like you. I want to keep liking you, but...I don’t know if that means we should just be friends...or what.”

  “What if the or what part worked out? What if this is all...good?”

  Carson shrugged. Her insides knotted up. She didn’t have an answer for that. Her motivations for being here weren’t pure. And yet, she wished that or what part had a fighting chance. Maybe knowing they were doomed had her feelings rebelling against what she knew.

  “Look, growing up the way I did with my fucked up parents, it made me want better for any kid of mine.”

  “Me, too,” she said. The words were honest. She’d never want to put a kid through what she’d been through. Even though it felt like that chapter of her life happened to a different person, deep down she knew it was her. That it had changed her ability to interact with people and feel valued.

  “Then, why don’t we agree to not...hedge ourselves in? Don’t make any decisions right now?”

  “That sounds good,” she said slowly. And yet she was fairly certain what that translated to her wasn’t the same thing to Ryan.

  “Cool.” He smiled and her insides went mushy. “Hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  “I think all we have are sandwich things.” His face scrunched up.

  “That’s fine.”

  “I ate cold cuts all week, every day. I’d like something else. Do you like barbeque?”

  “Sure.”

  “How about I run down the street and get us something from the smoke shack place around the corner?”

  “I can buy us lunch. You got breakfast. And cleaned up from dinner.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed the knuckles of each before letting her go.

  She sat there on the sofa, watching him collect his phone and keys. He paused in the door leading to the front room to give her a little wave and a smile. Even at the bar when he’d flirted he hadn’t smiled like this. When the truth came out, she would destroy this spark of his.

  BEN WAS FUCKED.

  He’d gotten a block away from his condo before he’d seen the unmarked FBI vehicle watching his place.

  His office was ransacked.

  None of his regular contacts or resources were available to him. He had to think outside the box. And yet, there was only one way to access his accounts with any hope that he could salvage what he had going for him in a way that would allow for him to escape without putting his life at risk.

  When he’d been younger, working for a bank was simply an option. A choice that allowed him to have an apartment, food and a little fun. His preferred recreational activities led him to meeting people. People who could benefit from having a middle man at the bank.

  Those contacts had led to other contacts, referrals and then his very own business.

  He’d never expected to go from being a kid who barely managed to graduate high school to a high rolling broker with friends around the world. Friends who would quickly become his enemies if he didn’t get circumvent the freeze put on his accounts by the FBI.

  Before he could figure out what to do about the FBI, he needed to know how and why they’d been alerted to his business.

  Ben made his bread and butter brokering deals for countries with heavy US sanctions preventing them from doing business in this part of the world. Some of them Ben wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. He wasn’t going near terrorists. That was a messy, complicated business with too many feelings involved. Business was business, plain and simple.

  His primary customers were countries whom the United States wanted to bleed dry, so they’d come crawling for help, willing to accept any deal offered to them. It was a power play that benefitted people like Ben who were willing to act as the middle man.

  He steered the little borrowed car onto a narrow side street. At this late afternoon hour there were plenty of people and traffic around the apartment building. The better for him to fade into the backdrop.

  The one and only hope left to him was that the FBI hadn’t gotten to his accountant.

  Carson Adair was a thorough woman who didn’t ask too many questions. She crunched the numbers and did the menial work that wasn’t worth his time. He’d found her through an accounting firm that offered a variety of services for smaller companies or individuals who didn’t want or couldn’t afford to keep a bookkeeper on staff. In Ben’s case he liked to cycle through people on a regular basis so no one knew too much. His contract for Carson’s services was up in six weeks and he would not be renewing.

  He’d never visited Carson at home. She probably thought he didn’t know where she lived, but he always did his homework.

  Carson Adair. Twenty-six. Single. Mostly a homebody. Nothing interesting about her at all.

  Ben parked the car in a tiny spot barely big enough for the compact vehicle. Chances were he’d have to abandon it here and find alternative transportation. With any luck he’d be able to use Carson’s access to his accounts and activate his backdoor.

  Before he’d left the bank and struck out on his own, he’d employed a young man to create a bit of code for him. The work Ben did was risky. He’d always known this day was coming, which was why he had the failsafe in place. He just hoped Carson wasn’t home and that the FBI hadn’t followed up with her yet.

  He got out of the car and strolled into the parking garage attached to the apartment complex. It was a nicer building as far as apartments went. A tenant leaving the first floor didn’t even glance at Ben when he slipped inside.

  All the security in the world couldn’t cure stupidity.

  He took the elevator up to the third floor.

  Carson’s apartment was halfway down the hall on the left. He glanced over his shoulder and drew the lock picks out of his pocket. Over the course of time he’d picked up an assortment of skills. Brokering was simply one facet of his job.

  He slid the pins into the lock and fumbled around for a moment before getting his bearings. Just because he knew how didn’t make him a
dept at this. In less than a minute the tumblers clicked into place and the lock gave way. He opened the door and listened.

  Silence.

  The elevator dinged down the hall.

  He stepped into the darkened apartment and listened to a woman carrying on a one sided conversation about shoes.

  Not the FBI. Yet.

  He closed and locked the door behind him. Soon enough the FBI would get Carson’s information from the accounting firm and come here. He could expect no help from her except what he could steal from her.

  Ben surveyed the apartment. White. Beige. Pink hues. Flowers. Boring.

  The kitchen to his left was neat, the counters wiped down. There was no clutter on the bar from discarded mail. No purse or items that indicated she was sleeping in late. A tiny two person dining table was covered in neatly folded laundry.

  Where the hell was her laptop?

  She had to have one somewhere.

  He peered into the bedroom, bathroom and closet before returning to the living room.

  Everything had a place.

  Where would her laptop belong? Was it even here? Had she gone somewhere with it?

  There was no desk, no work area in the apartment. The dining table was used to hold laundry rather than meals or work.

  He turned toward the sofa.

  That was where he’d set up shop.

  Ben crossed to the sofa and sat down in the middle of it.

  “If I were a laptop where would I be?” he said out loud.

  The coffee table was a big, wooden affair complete with drawers. He bent and opened one drawer. Bins of pens, pencils and assorted office supplies were arranged neatly inside. He tried the other drawer and found notebooks. Pads of paper.

  No laptop.

  Fuck. He couldn’t search the whole place. There wasn’t time for that.

  Be braced his hand on the coffee table and the top thunked down against the legs.